Subtlety, Zoe thought grimly, had never been her mother’s strong suit.
Eleanor arched a brow, her smile polite but her tone pointed. “Well, I suppose a strong partnership at home can only strengthen a partnership in business, don’t you agree?”
Jackson’s hand tightened lightly at Zoe’s waist, and Zoe managed a nod, though her throat had gone dry.
Great. Now they were lying to someone else. Would it ever stop?
“You care very deeply about this Local Blooms project,” Eleanor said quietly, her gaze settling on Zoe. “I can tell. That’s good. Passion is what carries a project through the inevitable obstacles.”
Zoe swallowed hard, heat prickling behind her eyes. “Yes. Thank you,” she managed, her voice soft but steady. “It’s…it’s very important to me.”
“I suppose we should continue our tour then, shouldn’t we?” Eleanor said with a conspiratorial wink. “I’d love to see how the town has changed over the years.”
Zoe nodded. For the first time all morning, the knot of tension in her chest began to ease. Eleanor might just be the fairy godmother they needed.
So long as she never discovered Zoe and Jackson’s picture-perfect relationship was all built on a lie.
TWENTY-SIX
JACKSON
Wednesday, March 19th
“I’d say that first meeting was a success,” Jackson said, lifting his glass toward Zoe. She clinked her gin and tonic against his beer, the sound soft but satisfying, and took a long sip.
There weren’t many places that made Jackson feel at ease. Too many rooms put him on edge, causing him to watch doorways and scan for exits, even when he didn’t mean to. But the Kettle wasn’t one of them. Maybe it was because he’d grown up here. Maybe it was the uneven cobblestones and the smell of firewood pizza and of fried food. Or maybe it was the steady clatter of billiards and darts, people clapping or cheering when they sank shots or hit a target.
He wasn’t the loud one in his childhood friendship group. That had always been Madison. He hadn’t been the lively one, either. That was Liam. He’d been the quiet kid, hanging back at the pool table, lining up a shot, or standing at the pinball machine while the lights flashed and bells rang. Always watching. Always keeping track. Some habits never changed.
The same old cues were still here. The scarred tables still rattled with every strike of a pool cue. Mr. Alders and OldMan Perkins still sat at the bar, nursing cheap beers and a bowl of peanuts while they argued over town politics—today it was whether the new airport hangar would raise their taxes. The sound of their bickering blended into the low hum of conversation, steady as it had always been.
All of that grounded him. The noise, the routine, the fact that nothing inside these walls ever really shifted. Safe, he thought, in the kind of way only a dive bar in your hometown could be.
“Thank you, for today,” Zoe said quietly. She toyed with the condensation on her glass, drawing little lines with her fingertip. “For being the calm one. I’m usually good with people, but I was… such a mess.”
Jackson’s mouth tipped in a faint smile. “Well, someone’s gotta keep you from calling the mayor for a key to the city.”
Zoe playfully pushed him away, letting her hand linger on his thigh.
Her knee brushed his under the table. Neither of them moved away.
“It’s usually the other way round,” he said. “You ground me, Zoe.”
He heard her breath catch. “That sounds like a compliment.”
“It is.”
The air between them thickened. Someone at the bar cheered as a dart hit its mark, but the sound barely registered. Jackson couldn’t take his eyes off her—the curve of her mouth, the faint glow of candlelight in her eyes.
It was too much. He couldn’t do this here.
He stood abruptly, tossing some bills on the table. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get some air.”
Outside, the night was cool, the smell of rain hanging over Oak Way. They walked without talking, the hum of music fading behind them until they reached the narrow alley behind her shop, quiet and lit only by the golden spill of a lamppost.
He reached for her before reason could stop him, his hand sliding to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. She tilted her head up.
The kiss was slow at first, tentative.
